Happy Filthy
by GhibliGirl91
Summary: "You're not alone," he said, and she chuffed against his chest, scepticism on her breath. "I'm serious. And in the mean time, you've got me and Hot Pie." Then he stopped, "Well you've got me, and hey, when winter does come, we can always eat Hot Pie." GxA
1. Standing Your Ground

**Obsessed with Game of Thrones! And GendryxArya in a friendly way (for now). I haven't read the books so I've done a smige of research. Just enough not to spoil it for myself. So if you're going to review, no spoilers! SILENCE! I'm _kind_ of happy; I wrote this by hand in a notebook last night so this morning I have a spectacular crick in my neck. It's all downhill after you hit 20. I keep feeling like there are inconsistencies, and run on sentences. And that I should differentiate between the Gold-Hats, instead of just calling them 'gold-hats'. But now I really can't be arsed.**

**Of course when I actually write something, it's nothing that I should be writing; that being, actual fiction, and revision for exams. Whatever, my life is here.**

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It was painfully unfair, Arya felt. To have been on the way home, still months away, fine, but in the way home, and _then_ to have been caught, and turned in another direction – towards the looming walls of Harrenhal. But as Arya's father used to say, 'the world rarely takes into account what you've been through. It does not adjust accordingly – only people can do that.' Of course Arya had sulkily asked why people couldn't take into account that she didn't want to do needlework. But that was Winterfell where life without her bow was no life at all. Rather than here; here no life at all was just you, being dead.

Lommy was dead. Every step towards Harrenhal was a step away from their bodies. From Lommy, so stupid and green that he hadn't seen the sword from the moment those stupid petulant, trembling words had left his gob. And Yoren, who once killed Willem. Who had looked like he might stand up until that bastard Lorch kicked him into the mud. In the storm she pictured them melting into the ground which was better than rotting. Since then it had rained non-stop for two days. Arya might have tried escaping with the natural cover for aid but she'd have to bring Hot Pie and Gendry. No way was she leaving them. And she didn't like the way Polliver's eyes followed her, brown flecked teeth, leering after her as the rain splashed off his bald pate. He still had Needle too.

They followed the road about half a league from the edge of the God's Eye. Her boots squelched in and out of the deep black mud that wagons had churned out of the road. Ahead, Lorch's horse stumbled every so often and she caught herself thinking 'wouldn't it be nice if he fell off.' He was either too proud or too foolish to get down.

"He's going to lame that horse," Gendry whispered beside her. She looked up at him, his brown tunic was soaked as well and his hair was all stuck to his forehead. The horse picked that moment to trip and clumsily skitter forward, managing just to keep its feet. Lorch on its back, cursed and flailed, jerking the reins back and pulling the poor creature's head in so far it's a wonder it's neck didn't snap. "Idiot," Gendry hiss, but no one heard him over the rain.

This weather and their current situation wasn't making it easier to hide her gender either. The patter of water meant she always needed a wee, and when she did she was never allowed to go alone. Gendry had taken to coming with her into the woods, to stand guard while she did her business. Of course they weren't allowed to be by themselves either. A guard or a gold-hat had to be with them. Once or twice it had been Polliver and his horrible teeth. To begin with they had lied and said they were brothers – a good enough reason for keeping close to each other if not for pissing on the same schedule – and the lie had just continued. Gendry would piss in full view of their sentry – sometimes making creative shapes to amuse himself – while Arya would dart behind the nearest thick tree. She couldn't squat down any more, she'd be noticed, so she had to pull her trousers down and brace herself against the wood. Sometimes her aim was off and she'd end up with slightly damp trousers or legs. This and she'd always be pressed against cold wet tree bark, hoping that nothing unpleasant crawled up her bum, but it was preferable to the alternative. Last time, Gendry drawing things in a steady stream of urine hadn't amused Polliver and he started stamping over to Arya's tree.

"Better hurry up Arry," Gendry called quickly, his voice impressively calm. "Our guard's coming for you." Cue a furious scramble for Arya to yank up her trousers, clutching them around her waist until Polliver appeared; disgusting imitation of a smile on his face. When all he saw was '_Arry_ '–frightened but finished - his face fell, and he jerked his head back to camp, grunting.

Gendry fell in step beside her as usual, as Polliver crashed through the thicket before them. His hand came down on her shoulder and squeezed.

"You're going to have to drink less. That was too close."

She had scowled at him.

"I couldn't help it," she snapped and stormed after Polliver through the wide path he had left – hacking at the brush with Needle. This was the reason for the bad mood she was in and she was determined to take it out on Gendry until it ran its course. For his part, Gendry seemed happy to ride it out, walking in silence at her side, a small bland smile on his face.

They were walking like this when the train suddenly came to a halt. Before them, Lorch was arguing with a gold-hat who had hold of his horse. The animal was lurching all over the place now; forelegs deep in mud. Finally Lorch seemed to be persuaded to get down from the dipping Bay, only to land up to his shin guards in the sludge himself. This cheered Arya up a bit.

Soon it became clear that the mud was the reason they'd stopped. It was so thick and dark now. The remaining wagon was trapped and everyone was struggling to stay upright, let alone move forward. Arya had just found a reasonably firm bit of ground when Raff –known as 'the Sweeting' for some reason – came squelching down the line, scowl in place.

"What's happened?" asked Hot Pie.

Raff – who even had mud in his thick yellow hair – didn't even look at Hot Pie but reached out and shoved him. Wind-milling his arms hopelessly Hop Pie fell into Arya, one fat arm knocking her across the chest as he went down with a wet 'splat'. Set off balance, Arya toppled against Gendry. Gendry nearly did the splits trying to stay on his feet but being sturdier than either Hot Pie or Arya managed to grab the latter under the elbow and keep her upright.

Arya, who had had all the wind knocked out of her by Hot Pie, seized Gendry and used him to haul herself upright. Hot Pie blinked up at the pair of them. Arya looked down at him, his face splattered with mud, and couldn't help it; she laughed. Laughed in a way she hadn't in weeks, not since Syrio and her father died. Hot Pie just floated on top of the road blinking.

A gold hat came hurrying the same way as Raff and as Gendry tried to drag Hot Pie out of the mud, tensely relayed that a canal lock a little West of them had burst and flooded the road.

"Are we stopping?" she asked.

"No," said the gold hat, as if she was stupid, "We're only a few hours from Harrenhal as it is. We'll get through."

Arya huffed as the soldier strode off.

"Hey," said Gendry, as he finally got Hot Pie upright, "No point staying here 'Arry, we'd only wake up floating."

And Arya couldn't hold it in, she giggled again.

They spent the last daylight hours picking a path through the wet ground. Gendry would use his long legs to bridge between two solid bits then take both Arya's hands and help her jump across. She had refused at first – 'I don't need to hold anyone's hand!' - but after ending up thigh deep in one sink hole, started accepting help more readily. They left Hot Pie to himself, Gendry had reached out for him a few times but after he fell over again and again they just left him alone. It was good exercise, Gendry reasoned making Arya snort, as Hot Pie shouted expletives behind them. Arya had just made the latest patch, Gendry actually lifting her and swinging her part of the way because she was too short to make it herself, when she saw the poor Bay horse finally fall to its knees. The two soldiers swore and yanked on its reins, its head jerking feebly against the force, but it wouldn't rise.

She'd just heard hot Pie splat into the mud for the eighth time before she staggered forwards and against the beast.

"Best just to kill it," one gold-hat was saying.

The other laughed, "Fine if you want to explain to his highness why you lopped off-"

"Dont kill him!" Arya gasped. The short walk without Gendry to help, had been tougher than she thought.

"Out of it boy!" One Lannister soldier snapped, as Arya threw an arm over the horse's neck like that would protect him from the world. But even as they came towards her - swords half drawn - a warm presence appeared on the horse's other side.

"I was a smithy in King's Landing," said Gendry, "I shod horses, I know them. I might be able to get him back on his feet." Below, the beast's head jerked again but otherwise it didn't move. The guards looked at each other and one rolled his eyes.

"Fine, what's your name boy?"

"Jon," said Gendry. It was the name they had agreed on when it was decided they'd pretend to be brothers.

"You can be Jon," Arya had said, tucking into an apple as she sat by the wayside, Gendry setting up shelter, "It's my real brother's name. He's a bastard too."

She had said it blandly enough but realised a second later what she had come out with. Looking to Gendry however, she hadn't seen him look angry. Being labelled as he had, hadn't seemed to annoy him the way it did Jon. When she'd asked Gendry said, "I am what I am, don't care what people want to call me."

And now 'Jon' fell off his tongue like that's what he'd been called his whole life.

"Alright boy, have a go," said the soldier, gesturing at the poor Bay; a hint of a sneer on his mouth. His disbelief didn't bother Gendry either; he turned straight to the horse.

"Arry – help calm him down," he said before leaning against the beast and beginning to murmur in its flattened ear. Arya watched for a moment before leaning in and beginning to whisper soft and low to the beast's other side.

"Come on, get up. You need to get up quick, come on, get up, get up, lovely. I bet you're such a handsome thing when you're clean-" and so on, stroking her hand in slow circles against one large shoulder blade. For his part, the horse turned towards her, to listen better it seemed, and nuzzled her leg, but nothing more.

"Okay," sighed Gendry "next, the hard bit."

He wrapped his arms around the horse's huge shoulder, and under what qualified as an armpit and threw all his weight into trying to move it. His arm muscles bulged against the weight, and the sleeves of his tunic. His face quickly turned red and all the tendons stood out of his neck. Beside them, the soldiers burst out laughing.

"Yeah boy, see if you can carry him all the way to Harrenhal."

Gendry's slipping feet rather than their laughter made him stop.

"Okay, not going like that," he said, nearly to himself. Casting around his eyes feel on the saddle still affixed to the back of the horse, trailed by a chain-mail rump-guard.

"No wonder he can't get up, look at all that he's carrying" He said, nodding at the offending items. The soldiers stopped laughing. One looked angry.

"Ere boy, someone's got to carry that. Who'd you have do it?"

"Well, you can until we get to the other end of this," Gendry threw back with enough force to have the soldier reaching for his sword. Only his friend's hand on his arm stopped him.

Arya could see now, that the rain had eased a bit, that the end of the swamp was really a close, a scant twenty yards beyond. Already a good chunk of their guard was looking back across the wet mud, at the remaining members.

Further back they had given up trying to dig the wagon out and were in the process of unloading the remaining supplies and handing them up the line to begin the trek to dry land. Someone was already leading the cart-mare across a solid bit of earth, along which she plodded dutifully.

"Arry, can you find the saddle buckle?"

Arya jumped and quickly dove beneath the horse's belly in search of the submerged clasp. Sweeping around in the wet, her hands found the buckle on the strap. "Found it!"

"Yeah, can you undo it?"

Arya pried at it with her small fingers, but it seemed jammed in place. Did leather swell? "I-I can't," she had just chocked out, when she felt it come loose in her hands. "Its free," she cried as she managed to release it, flinging her side of the strap over the gelding's back, towards Gendry, who pulled it over, avoiding the flying stirrup. The chainmail slid off the horse's backside and into the mud.

"Better come get that if you don't want it rusting," Gendry said and watched the soldiers scrabbling to get to the fine saddle and soft riding blanket which were slowly taking on water.

They dragged them out from beneath their master's horse. The poor thing whinnied as the other stirrup stuck him in the side.

"Shh, it's alright," Gendry hushed into its ear, patting the big bay neck, "It's okay."

"Can't you get up little thing?" Arya asked quietly of his other side. Hot Pie was standing behind them being useless as usual. But as Gendry was looking around him and his eyes lit on Hot Pie, burning at him in a way that actually made Hot pie recoil.

"Hey Pie. Go and stand next to Arry." Hot Pie hesitated then stumbled towards Arya. "Hey!" shouted Gendry, turning around to the wagon-line, "rope! We need rope!" There was some shuffling around before someone finally threw a coil of rope towards them. Gendry lunged out to catch it and keep it falling into the mud, then tossed the other side over to Hot Pie.

"Get it round his arse," he said, throwing it round the horse's hind-quarters.

"Arya – shit, Arry, get in front and grab his bridle."

A quick glance at Hot Pie showed them he was too distracted - and it seemed a bit distressed – to even notice Gendry's slip.

"Wind it round your – yeah like that. Don't want it slipping."

Both he and Hot Pie wrapped any extra rope around their hands while Arya lifted over the bridle and stroked the horse's lolling nose.

"Right, on three, pull. One-two-_three_!"

They both heaved but Gendry's superior strength was no match for Hot Pie who slid forwards in the mud. "Shit! Not so hard!" cried Hot Pie as he tried to pull a bit back. Gendry didn't speak, just set his jaw and prepared to pull again.

"Come on!" cried Arya, as if the horse would understand, "You can do it little one!"

The second pull only slid the animal forward an inch. "Come on!" Arya pleaded as the horse's head wobbled – even more pathetically than before, "Come on! They'll kill you otherwise! Come on!" her voice cracked. As a child a work-horse that she loved had gone lame and her father had to have it killed. Arya had begged and pleaded. She had even resorted to Sansa tactics and thrown a tantrum, but it hadn't worked. Even now Arya wondered if nursing Boulder would have helped, before Hordor, crying himself, had gone out with a sword. But exhaustion was not being lame. And damn her, this wouldn't be another Boulder. Arya was just _sick_ of things dying.

Then, as if hearing her crying out across her memories – the big Bay's hooves began to scrape against the ground. One more heave and he was able to fling himself upwards with enough momentum to pick up his legs and use them to shakily support his huge body. Arya whooped.

Dancing about in front of the horse and kissing his nose she didn't see Gendry wind up the rope and take the side of their rescuee's bridle. He clicked his tongue, "Walk on. Come on Arry he's still knackered, let's get him on solid ground," and he led the horse forward slowly. Calming considerably, Arya took the bridle and walked on the other side, as if she could prop Bay up with her minimal weight.

Together, they made it at last to the end of the slick patch. Here, Lorch and the two soldiers waited. "Well done boy," he said jovially slapping Gendry's shoulder.

"Thank you sir,"

"Say, how did you know what you were doing?"

"Smithy sir, I used to be a smith...in King's Landing."

There was a silence and suddenly Arya's insides turned to rock. Did they know Gendry the bastard had been a smith? Was Lorch suddenly become suspicious of Lommy's real identity?

"Oh well good lad. We'll have to see about you getting some smith work once we're in Harrenhal. We'll stop here tonight." He was already walking off, leaving Arya thanking the Gods for the complacency of commanders.

"Here sir?" shouted one of the Gold-hats.

"Yes here!" spat Lorch, "Everyone's exhausted, we may as well get to Harrenhal in the morning. And someone see about getting that wagon free." A collective groan went up. "One of you two, rub down my horse, find his dinner," he said pointing at the gold-hats. They grumbled but one took the Bay from Arya and led him away.

She and Gendry were left standing at the edge of the swamp road looking after their horse - who for his part had probably already forgotten them - then at each other. Then a fat grin split Arya's round little face in two.

"You did it!" she cried and flung her arms around Gendry's middle, squeezing for all she was worth. Gendry – perhaps unused to such affectionate displays – especially from Arya had to bring his hand to pat her hair. A yelp came from behind them, "Oh come on," Arya said, letting him go, oblivious to his awkward, "Let's go and help Hot Pie." And she tramped back into the marsh, towards their floundering friend.

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**This will be multi-chaptered! I SWEAR TO YOU NOW! I will make it so! And I'll try to keep ahead of the series as best I can, because all of the planned action occurs in Harrenhal. But other than that...what's wrong with it? Please tell me, come up with something, _ANYTHING, _bad to say. Verbally flay me. It's the only way I'll get better.**


	2. Intangible

**So tired. I should be packing to go back to uni and yet I am here, editing this. But on the upside, THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS. And the favorites, although I feel like I should suggest you alert it instead, it's not exactly reached it's thrilling conclusion yet. But hey, if it's worthy of your click, maybe a review next time? *shamless beggar-woman* Also the summary is shitey. I need a new one, so suggestions would be appreciated.**

**And oh yes, this chapter has helped me realise that I SUCK at dialogue. And I apologise for it. Arya's line about talking without saying anything, that is total self-reflection. I am not above that.**

**Gratuitous shirtless Gendry for your troubles?**

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Arya woke early the next day with a dry throat and damp everything else. Sleeping by the roadside had its advantages but being underneath all the run-off from the pines above wasn't one of them. The night before she had fallen asleep whispering names under her breath, curled up beside Hot Pie and Gendry, facing back down the road toward King's Landing. This morning her throat scratched and she wondered if she'd carried on saying them in her sleep.

_Cersei, Joffrey, The Hound, The Mountain.  
Cersei, Joffrey, The Hound, The Mountain._

Sitting up, a fat water droplet landed right on her head adding its round, little 'thap' noise to the music of water falling elsewhere. What she then noted was the lack of any true music. No birds were singing. The occasional turbulent crow-call didn't count and Arya shivered, looking up at the trees, conscious of something up there that wasn't birds, and judging from her recent experience, certainly weren't Gods either.

The sun wasn't yet above the horizon, the sky lit an early morning shade of pale blue. It made her think of her father and Winterfell. Then as she moved around, picking her wet trousers away from her legs, she became aware of an uncomfortable tightness shifting inside her. She got up quickly and headed for the woods, slipping between a few trees where she'd be beyond sight.

There was a little creek running down the incline, spreading out into lots of tiny rivulets coming together again in little eddies. She followed it up a ways before she found a reasonably rooty tree and looked around. The beat of water was her only company. Pulling her trousers down she squatted against it, forcing free the meagre remains of sustenance she had got hold of the last three days. Lorch and his men weren't exactly generous. It was finished quickly and Arya had a quick wee to make sure Gendry wouldn't have to come with her again. A clump of dead wet leaves served as her privy rag – she thanked someone that there was at least one tree here that wasn't a spindly evergreen in the area – then stood and pulled up her trousers. Some remaining human modesty made her throw some earth over her produce. Once it was covered in twigs, discreetly ensconced in the tree roots she walked down to the stream to clean her hands.

She plunged her hands into the icy water and withdrew them quickly, scraping clean her palms with her nails, hoping she hadn't pooed in a rabbit hole. That would be a nasty shock for any little creature coming to the surface. Then as she picked filth from her finger-nails, she began to listen again for any animal sounds in the underbrush. "_Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there Arya_. _Everything leaves signs."_

That had been her father's explanation. She had argued of course – challenged him to find signs of things they couldn't see. He had pointed out burrows and animal droppings – even broken sapling limbs that deer had left behind. She had a hard time believing _anyone _would notice those, even if they were looking. She had said that as well and he had laughed, smiling in that adult way that meant he wasn't taking her literally. He reminded her that some things were invisible too, but instead of pursuing this she agreed to play the game he suggested; things they could not see but were there.

"Birds," she began, "you can hear them but you can't always see them."

"Music."

"Bread baking."

"Speech."

"You can see people talking!"

"Oh really, y'majesty? You can see words hanging in the air can you?" Silence. "That's what I thought."

"Hodor's breath!"

He had laughed, then become mock-solemn and said, "Love." She made a face at him.

"Bravery!"

"Intelligence."

"Justice."

"Gods."

And without giving it much though, she had added that to the ream of things you could feel, taste, smell and believe in, but couldn't see.

She started to walk back to camp when she laid her hand on a tree. She paused and looked up through the bows. No God's resided here. Not in these new woods. And anyway, these days, she liked to see something with her own eyes to believe in it. No God's watched over Arya Stark. Something crunched.

Arya flattened herself against the trunk, her foot nudging a fallen branch. She leaned down to pick it up, and holding it by the thickest end, prepared to peek around the tree.

"Gendry!"

He was panting hard and his eyes were running all over the place.

"Oh for- I thought you'd run off!"

She hopped off her tree root and came around the trunk, feeling she couldn't adequately express herself from behind a tree-trunk.

"I do not run away and leave my friend's to die, thank you very much."

He pressed his lips together the way she'd seen her own brothers do. "Fine!" Then stopped. "Sorry for caring!" Silence again. Neither said anything, they just stared each other down. Gendry snapped first. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Just what were you doing?"

"What do you think I was doing?" she snapped back, walking past him. He shut up again as the tips of his ears turned red.

"Fine, but you should wait for me, next time." He turned around to follow.

"You were sleeping."

He followed her across the uneven ground.

"So wake me up, I'm serious Ar-"

"Wake you up for what, lad?" The pair of them stopped, Gendry just behind Arya, as Polliver stepped towards them, one hand on the hilt of his sword. "Trying to make a break for it?" He asked, mad eyes popping at them.

"No!" Arya said breathlessly.

"Really?" said Polliver even as he drew his sword and let it hang by his leg.

"We weren't!" Gendry shouted coming up behind Arya and putting both hands on her shoulders. It felt protective but all she could think was she wouldn't be able to move backwards if she needed to get out of the way, quick. Polliver snarled and pointed his sword in Gendry's face.

"We were only doing what we've always done," Gendry said, voice shaking just a bit.

"I don't care if you were buggering each other blind, out here boy!" Arya was completely pressed against Gendry now, trying to push him away from the sword tip. "You ran off."

"You know we weren't leaving, we were heading back!"

"We were praying," shouted Arya. Both the men looked at her. Polliver's bottom row of teeth jutted beyond his lip as he stared at her, working through what he'd been told. "Our parents kept the old Gods. They live in the trees."

Polliver's eyes darted around the pines quickly, following the sounds of wind and water. Slowly he raised his sword, up and away from Gendry's face and brought it back to its scabbard. Gendry's fingers dug painfully into Arya's shoulders, but it couldn't kill the flush of _power_ she felt as she watched Polliver's eyes flit around the trees. Then suddenly it was replaced by a sinking feeling of betrayal; blasphemy from using the Gods as an excuse, without giving anything in return. It felt surreal, especially since, minutes before she had dismissed those God's for their intangibility. Luckily the feeling itself was quick to vanish as well replaced by the cool wash of relief at what was sure to be a successful lie. It left her with only a sense of her own cleverness. That was good for a girl once in a while. But as she watched Polliver, she must have done something, maybe smiled or smirked because his eyes suddenly caught hers and he whipped Needle out of its scabbard, and this time, into Arya's face.

She stared at the tip of her sword, as it bobbed against her nose. Then, slower than she would have thought possible, he moved Needle to her arm. Gendry was squeezing her so tight she was losing feeling in her finger-tips. Needle's point pressed against her small bicep. She leaned back, but damn it, why wouldn't Gendry move? The 'shuck' sound as her tunic and shirt were pierced nearly made her flinch but in the next second the feeling of cool metal on her skin had all her attention. She tried to take a step back but landed on Gendry's foot. He loosened his grip on her for half a second before pain shot up her arm. She squeaked as Gendry let her jerk back, grasping her arm. Arya felt a drop of blood well at the blade. Curses, it _hurt_ for something so small. Arya had been scraped, grazed, bruised, whacked, sliced and gashed, but never pierced. Her eyes filled with tears of pain as Polliver twisted the blade.

"Pray to your God's to heal that, boy!" he spat and wheeled around, storming back to camp. Arya lurched away from Gendry clutching her arm. "Not today," she managed to whisper before rounding on Gendry. "What in seven hells?" Why didn't you let me move?"

"It's better not to back away from a man like that," he said, eyes on Polliver's retreating back.

"So you let me get stuck instead?"

She grabbed her arm and dropped it just as quickly when pain suffused the abused limb.

"Let me see." Gendry stepped towards her. She swatted him and tried to look at the wound herself, but he didn't give up and knelt down before her, drawing her back over and parted the tiny eye in the fabric. Arya watched hawkishly as he found most of the blood had soaked into her sleeve. Only a bit of blood sat on the cut now.

"You got poked," he said and she punched him. Appeasing her, Gendry lifted a thumb to his mouth, wet it and gently smeared away the blood. "It'll be fine, just let the air have it." Arya yanked her sleeve free, scowling and furious, whipping about and storming back to camp. He followed, and Arya would have killed him if she'd seen him smile.

They reached the road side what could only have been minutes after Polliver did but they found the camp almost completely packed. They'd just discovered Hot Pie, who was helping load the freed wagon with Lorch's tent, when Raff appeared. He was grinning at the three of them. None of them asked about what because he was twisting a thick length of rope between his hands.

"Can't have you running off," he said with a wink at Arya and both boys drew closer to her sides . Lorch, mounted on the white horse this morning, trotted towards them.

"Come on Sweeting," he snapped, apparently his good mood from the day before had vanished. "Get their hands tied. They aren't walking into Harrenhal looking like freemen, besides our runaways need to learn their lesson."

And that was how they came to the huge castle, hands bound, to see the melted towers. Melting that Arya solemnly pronounced could only have come from dragon fire. Then walked down the hill towards a worser fate,

As the man who could easily have been Hot Pie was eaten alive by rats, she found Gendry behind her again, and found –despite her earlier fury- she was really glad to have him there. She lay down that night, not too close to him , but close enough. Once again she began listing names in the dark.

_Cersei, Joffrey, The Hound, The Mountain,  
Cersei, Joffrey, The Hound, The Mountain,  
Polliver._

And drifting off, Arya found she had something else intangible for her and her father's list.

Hatred.

* * *

In the near black of the tiny smithy, Gendry struck the hot steel. Over and over he raised the hammer and brought it down; one strike for every two of his heart. It was an easy rhythm he had taken up at Mott's. That seemed so long ago now, even though it was just a few weeks in life. He struck the sword for the last time making the hollow clang echo around the forge, and using the rusty tongs to put the glowing metal into the water. A column of steam burst forth and clouded his eyes. It was boiling but that was a forge's advantage as a sleeping place too. He laid down the tongs, promising himself without conviction that he would make a new pair soon. Looking across at the stack of armour and weapons he had to mend, he snorted. Maybe another time. Reminding himself the Smith was the God of broken things, he stretched out the kinks in his lower back. Broken he would be, if the resident Master didn't drag his arse out of the kitchen eventually. Seven hells he need a piss. Rolling his shoulder in one hand, he walked out of the forge. Thinking of the seven had reminded Gendry of Arya and the old Gods – she didn't strike him as devout but it had been bloody quick of her. He should tell her that. Or maybe not. He hadn't seen her since yesterday when they'd been shoved in different directions.

He remembered in jewel bright colour all of what happened the day before. For a horrible moment he had thought the Mountain had pointed at Arya and said 'him'. His stomach had turned to wood as he glanced at Arya. But her eyes were terrified, bright and only directed at him. Then his eyes had met 'The Mountain' and he came back to life. Fear, there had been that mantra of expletives you would expect, going around in his head, but also an absurd relief that it wasn't her.

But then of course he'd been dragged to the gate and lashed there. Breathing hard through his nose, he'd wanted to be like the metal, but at the same time he's been almost supernaturally away of Arya. Arry, who wouldn't look away. _Look away!_ He'd wanted to shout at her but if he'd opened his mouth he wasn't sure what would have happened. He tried to focus on answering their pointless questions curtly, before snapping his mouth shot but she was just _there._ Out of the corner of his eye – fixed on the fence post.

He felt the rage overtake him then, at the injustice. The pointlessness of his death after they came this far. He knew it was vanity but he couldn't help feeling that maybe they had all been something special. That they were intended for more than just the Black. As if this was a story and he was her protector. _She needs me. _ Not that she'd admit it if you dragged her to the end of Westeros. But who would look after her if her died? Hot Pie was next to useless, and no one else knew the truth. All the grief crashed down on him then, all the disappointment in himself, and all the rage for believing they could be special. And then as her slid his eyes to her he felt an absurd flash of relief that she hadn't turned and was just stuck there. Because it was the closest thing to being held, he would ever feel again.

As soon as he stepped out of the forge into the open air all the sweat on his skin had turned ice cold in the wind. He cursed, his teeth chattering. Making a quick jog to the privy he slid inside – holding his breath – and pissed as quick as he could. Then stumbled out the door. _Everybody shits_. He thought wryly and grinned because that at least was universal and reassuring. He nearly ran back to the forge in the cold. Upon getting back inside his shirt felt damp so he reached over his head and pulled it off. The orange glow lit the back room where the curtain divider had been pulled aside. Squeezing out the shirt and using it to sop the sweat on his chest he looked at the sword he had just finished, but it wasn't where he'd left it. Turning around quickly, he peered into the shadows.

"If I was an assassin, you'd be really dead by now," said a voice – and he looked toward the curtain. That was the thing about Arya – she'd never let you see her til the last moment. Only where she _had _been. Like a little ghost. He lost count of the times on the road, he'd seen Yoren laugh but no sign of the source, one of the men reach out to cuff only air. She leaned on one of the beams, face pressed to the wood. Good Gods, had she actually combed her hair? She held the sword in the hand that wasn't wrapped around the beam.

"Wouldn't be the first time." He regretted saying that when she winced. "You been alright?" Found a bed an' all? Lady of the castle."

"I've got a place to sleep. In a cupboard."

"A cupboard?"

"Don't say it like that."

"Didn't say it like anything...but , you're safe?"

He remembered the declaration of 'this one's a girl' and the _No, no, no, NO! _spinning in his head. He was convinced, perhaps irrationally, that the next sound he would hear would be her screams, and he'd be stuck to that fence. She sneered at him.

"Yes I'm safe. I don't need to be protected, I can look after myself."

"You bloody love saying that don't you. Well sorry m' lady," He faked a bow "What's wrong with you? You're being a proper little madam."

She ran at him, dropping the sword and shoved him hard. He fell backwards over his anvil. Jammed between the wall with his legs over the huge metal block he stared up at her. All her hair had fallen back over her face and she was glaring at him.

"Shut up! I wish that rat had eaten your belly inside out, stupid"!

"Bloody hell, Arya!" he bellowed. "Do you have to try and harm me every time I tell the truth?"

He struggled back to his feet by extricating his legs one at a time.

"Shut up! Stop being a twat! I hate it when it's like this!"

She had crossed her arms tightly across her chest and was staring at the floor.

"Like what?"

"Like we talk and say nothing. I speak to you and you to me but the things we say don't matter. It's like court all over again!" Then she stopped suddenly, huffing short –frighteningly teary sounding breaths- before speaking again. "Sorry." Gendry tried to get a look at her face but failed. "I'm sorry was crabby yesterday morning, "she mumbled, before turning and walking into the tiny domestic part of the smithy. He followed her and she almost ran into him coming back through the door. She was clutching a small loaf of mealy looking bread. "Here, this is for you," Gendry took it and she walked over and slumped on his tiny bed, tucking herself against the wall.

"You been okay then?" he asked quietly, putting his bread on the table before throwing his shirt over a roof beam. Turning around he found her watching him, then her eyes went back to her knees. He picked up his leather vest and pulled it on.

"Yes," she said eventually, "I don't think half of them even know I'm a girl."

Gendry found he was relieved about that. He went and sat on the table and picked up his loaf for a bite.

"Where's Hot Pie?" he asked,

"Kitchens," she said dully.

"Understandable," he said and she laughed, a bit wetly but it was good to hear, "How's the arm?"

She looked non-plussed then realised, "Still hurts, but you we're right. It's not as bad as I thought."

"Let's have a look." And he went to sit beside her. There wasn't a lot of light so he had to lean in and squint as she rolled up her sleeve but he could make out a hardy looking scab.

"Don't pick and it'll be fine."

"Yes, thank you maester Gendry."

He nudged her with his elbow.

"Here, do you want a bit of this?" he asked and she nodded. He tore a chunk off the loaf and handed it to her, she held it, but did not raise it to take a bite.

"So what name are you going by? It can't be your real one,"

"Nymeria...or Nan."

"Oh."

Jon and Nan, they were good simple names that would keep them as safe as possible while they were here.

"What did you mean earlier when you said we don't say anything? We talk."

"Yeah," sighed Arya, leaning her head against his arm, "but we don't talk about things that we should. We're always trying to stay safe, and it makes me want to scream. I'm never allowed to say what I'm thinking. Not ever."

"Well consider this an opportunity then," said Gendry looking down at the mop of greasy hair. She lay there for a second then elbowed him half-heartedly.

"Now I can't think of anything."

He snorted.

"I miss my family." _That _was said quiet enough that the spirits could have missed it, but said it was.

"Nothing wrong with missing the people you love," he countered.

"I just didn't think I'd feel like I was all by myself. We've always been a pack, even Sansa. And people used to joke about our family words, but father would always say, '_When Winter comes, the lone wolf dies. The pack survives.' _And now I'm alone."

Gendry say, a bit stunned, never would he expect her to sound so defeated. "You're not alone," he said, and she chuffed against his chest, scepticism on her breath. "I'm serious. You're family is spread out but they're still alive, and they're still thinking of you, wherever they are." He paused. "And in the mean time, you've got me and Hot Pie." Then he stopped, "Well you've got me, and hey, when winter does come we can always eat Hot Pie."

She burst out laughing, and it was startlingly good to hear.

There was a small cough and they both turned to see a surprisingly clean girl standing in the door holding a tray,

"I've brought you some stew...ser," she said, and then dropped an awkward curtsy. She was plump for Harrenhal staff, Gendry noted, and pretty too, around Arya's age. A girl who had embraced being a girl for all it was worth. Blonde ringlets framed her face and her fat rosy cheeks.

"Thanks," said Gendry, "stick it here." He pointed to the end of the bed. She took a hesitant step forward and put down the tray on the pallet.

"Who are you?" asked Arya a little too hostilely. The girl's gaze snapped to where the grubby individual sat and flushed further, folding her hands in her apron.

"Veleth," she whispered then took a step back, followed by another and another. Then quickly, she gave a tiny smile, bobbed again, turned around and ran, a wash of golden hair behind her.

"By the mother and father," whispered Gendry.

"What," she asked, staring darkly at the meal the girl had left, picking at the loaf.

"A _girl. _I'd forgotten what one looks like!"

Arya slapped him across the stomach, "Shut up, moron. I'm a girl."

"Not that you'd know with you looking like that. Maybe you could court her, I'm sure she'd be happy to have a little sweet-heart."

Arya leapt up and punched him, "You're disgusting!"

"You weren't in King's Landing for very long were you?" he asked sandwiching beef between two bits of bread and smirking up at her. "Whole parts of town, dedicated to that kind of thing."

Arya's mouth fell open and Gendry popped a bit of beef in there, laughing.

"Oh shut up, you prat!" she cried, pushing him and ran for the door but he leapt up, grabbing her arm.

"Stay and have some stew." He said but he was still grinning with a full mouth.

"If Nymeria was here, I'd have her eat your face."

* * *

**I got to the second half and it just would not flow! I possibly invited carpal tunnel ever closer by persevering but just went on a music bender and l****istened to 'Real Good Looking Boy' while I wrote. Dreaming of Joe Dempsie and his beautiful arms.****This was meant to be out last night but I went running and then got lazy after-wards. Sorry.**

**Balls, its 11.30 and I have to leave at 8.**


	3. Are We Friends?

**Holy balls, she's updated. In the words of my good friend Munchieees, this must be what victory feels like. What has it been? Five, six months? **

**Let's see. I finished my second year of university and the second season ended, now started my third year and gagging for series three. Didn't fail my exams, yay. Have a stack of books as high as my hip to get through. I did read Game of Thrones in the meantime, while I was camping. It made up for -and was partly the reason behind- the comedy sunburn I suffered while out there. However, since its been a while, I've rather forgotten the character points I picked up about Arya. Then I was bogged down with my SanSan feels (to the extent that I started reading ahead for the pair of them - [subtle spoiler alert] I'm a Quiet Isle kind of girl). I ship it, what can you do? And I did my customary fandom hopping -Avengers! Loki! Holy fuck!- but realizing I couldn't write another fic without finishing this one first I came back and got my arse in gear. ****Are you still as up for this as you once were?**

**Also if you're interested in style and form and what-not, I ramble about a bit at the end. Just explaining a few things.**

**This is unbeta'd because I do not have one. Also, if I leave it, it may never see the light of day. Have fun.**

**Edit: Shit, fucking colossal mistake. I've accidentally written the same event twice. Fixed it now. Or I bloody hope I have. That's what I get for writing two halves so far apart. Also came back and changed a few teenie details so sorry for the spam if anyone gets this twice.**

* * *

They had expected to find an inn by now. Or be caught and returned to Harrenhal, or any manner of other possibilities brought on by paranoia and cold. But the occupation of the dragon smote castle and the influx of questionable characters it brought with it had encouraged the local villagers to scarper. Even at the expense of everything they owned. They'd seen what had happened to those that didn't.

Instead they squelched for miles between high reaching rock teeth, hiding under overhangs at night, usually just big enough for three. Or two and a half; Hot Pie often being the extra half. Once in a while it was Gendry if he was feeling generous. Arya always, _always_ slept with her back to the wall. Nestled into the crevice, she often looked like she would sink into the rock mouth itself.

Gendry had taken to observing her. It was as if she had developed a fear of being _looked _at for too long. Just looked at. And she had given up meeting his eyes, or even facing him head on. When they spoke she was turned half or completely away from him, back the way they had come. It could have been her looking out for them if ever she reacted with fear. Once a small red fox had dashed across a cut in the rocks, down one side of the canyon and up the other, Hot Pie almost shat himself. Arya just followed its progress and stared at the trees where it vanished for a long while afterwards, rain dripping down her face and getting in her eyes without it bothering her.

Gendry wasn't stupid, it had begun at the castle. She visited less often, not that he would worry beyond the norm if he went a while without seeing her. That was what he told himself at least. Sometimes it was like she would let herself be seen. A glance was thrown his way, a wave, a rude gesture at Hot Pie if he was there, and then she would vanish again. Apart from the times he saw her running to that guard, he of stupid hair and slightly exotic eyes, there came a point where he would barely see her at all. He was a big boy he didn't need to be noticed or acknowledged, he left a mark in other ways. Half his apprenticeship had relied on staying out of sight, but he wasn't hiding. He made himself visible if not loudly heard, in the hope that if she needed to she would see him.

Out here, there wasn't much to do but walk and get drizzled on. They sat under a particularly low overhang one night, water dripping from the lip and into their shoes when Hot Pie finally broke the silence they had maintained for safety. It had been strange to be silent in the company of friends, but Gendry was used to it.

"I'm hungry," Hot Pie declared.

"Send out the ravens."

Hot Pie shot her a look before apparently forgetting the jibe or the hurt it had caused and leaned back onto a sharp bit of stone. "I'm serious," he said, "we've run out of food, unless someone can hunt –"

"Only because you ate it all!" Arya shouted, voice bouncing around their rock. And it was true, but it had been Gendry giving him the food just to stop him whining. When Arya was climbing the less steep rock spires, like a spider on a castle wall, to make sure they weren't being followed or to see if there was an inn anywhere, Hot Pie would stand behind Gendry making comments. He would remark on Arya's technique – one he could never hope to match – or he would say he was hungry and ask for food.

This morning Gendry realised he'd run out of dry rye bread and the cheese was green. He'd scraped off the mould and eeked it out between them. But that was it. Now they all huddled hungry and cold and more than a bit annoyed at each other. Arya more than any of them, was sat seething wrapped up in herself, she had quickly fallen into that sneaky spiral of rage that comes with days of frustration and monotony.

"It's not like you couldn't have done without it," said Arya darkly, lowering her voice and not looking at Hot Pie.

"Fat jokes. Suppose you think you're so clever," he paused, "Lannister cup-bearer too good for the likes."

"Shut up!" she shrieked, "I'm not a Lannister anything! I kill Lannisters like the dogs they are! I'll hunt them and rip out their throats especially Joffrey, the whiny little cunt. Proves nothing good ever came out of Tywin Lannister's COCK!"

Hot Pie and Gendry both stared at her, it was the first time in days her big dark eyes had met either of theirs and it wasn't a particularly pretty picture. Her eyes had aged, with both big grey smudges undeneath, and lines around them, scary on her baby face.

"Alright," said Gendry, he had found 'peacemaker' was the least fractious role while they travelled. They wanted to survive the road even if Gendry's own nerves were fraying. As long as he could blame the weather, and sore feet he could pretend that he wasn't failing. When they had left Kings' Landing she had been a child. She was changing, and not just going beyond womanhood, which...squicked Gendry just a bit to think about it. She was already older than Hot Pie older than him. Soon she would be as old as the seven kingdoms itself, for she had seen all the pain in it. Counting back in his head he tried to come up with the day it had started, or the day he had first noticed, because he sure as hell hadn't realised it was happening as it did.

It had to have been back in the open forge, what he had thought to be a haven had been a stop-over.

* * *

Good weather was sporadic in Harrenhal. Often Arya had felt like she had been walled into a great stone bowl with her personal storm set above it, screaming down at her all her failures so far. Her clothes were forever damp and clingy, enough to make her long for something dry, even a dress, perhaps for a second. Then she caught a leery glance from a big man, not a soldier. Arya Stark will run you through with Needle –when she gets it back – if you call her a coward but that look was like a cold hand on the back of her neck, and a deep warning whisper in her ear. She took a cautionary step backwards, then another, then whirled and ran back to the forge from whence she had just come. She tore through the flap and into the body of the forge which was blissfully empty. No one being there, she peered out from behind the sacking curtain to make sure she wasn't being followed. Syrio's voice floated through her head reminding her to watch her back. It was right, she couldn't think of anything worse than being followed out of sight. Her breathing came hard, and she bit her cheek for being scared. Instead she dug her hands into the skin of her thigh and squeezed until negative spots of black light popped in front of her eyes. Where in the hell was Gendry when she...certainly did not need him.

The forge was dark in comparison to the light outside, everything was cast in a blue-ish gloom. She hadn't known colours since Kings Landing, everything was muted here even the red and gold in the crafted Lannister uniforms were not as bright or impressive as they would have been, or as Arya imagined they would have been, elsewhere. But Gods forbid her from thinking that anything Lannister was impressive, no matter how shiny it was. She was not distracted by baubles like Sansa.

Sansa.

Sansa's hair. A lighter, a hotter shade with much more orange in it than the Lannister red, which was more to the colour of blood than anything else. And didn't it _shine_ like a sun rise? Arya realised that for once this thought was not in jealousy but in longing. Gods be good, did Arya just admit to missing Sansa? How horrible, how...girly. She was no baby longing for her sister's slender arms, arms that couldn't lift a dagger in defence, let alone a sword. And longing for her hair was just plain ridiculous. There was no Tully-red hair in the world of Arry the kitchen girl. The cup bearer to Tywin Lannister did not have a sister, Sansa didn't exsist. Nor did Catelyn Stark. Her father certainly no longer existed. She had no brothers but those she'd taken on –out of charity of course. She refused to think of those people, the family of a girl who she would kill before she let be taken by anyone. They had never been born. You might need colours to live but you didn't need them to survive.

Arya peeked out again, letting a shaft of light play on her face, then dropped the curtain. Stepping back from the door way, back and back again until she was closer to the back room, she slipped inside it like a shade. She became the walls, she let herself fade, became the ghost of Harrenhal. A girl with no sister, no parents, no brothers. She slid towards the cot at the rear wall. She slipped under the blanket, just for a second, she told herself and tucked it up around her chin. No sister, no parents, no brothers. But a smelly blacksmith, and a fat boy. And an assassin.

That was where Gendry found her, a few hours later.

* * *

Gendry hadn't minded finding Arya in his bed. He'd rather that than her cupboard. And she nearly looked cute – underneath the layer of filth - babyish, which she would undoubtedly kick him for if she knew he was thinking it. Hiding wasn't her style but he knew the need to get away for a little while. That is, until the boss came looking. Or at least Hot Pie with the news that the Lion's dinner was ready. He came barrelling into the forge where Gendry was taking his hammer to a raw bit of metal. Amazingly Arya was sleeping through it. She had rolled over and scowled in her sleep but thrown an arm over her head and slept on.

"Gendry have you seen Arry?" He stopped talked when he saw Arya in the bed. "His lordship wants his dinner," he said to Gendry.

Gendry threw him a look. "Well wake her up and tell her then!"

Hot Pie glanced at her, she'd removed her arm from her face, turned towards the wall, still peaceful with her eyes moving a little under pearly lids. "But...she'll hit me," he said. Gendry rolled his eyes as he let the hammer fall.

Finally Hot Pie sidled up to her and leaned down, jerkily pulling back a few inches when he felt he was too close.

"Arry?...Arr- Arya?" Arya stirred. Gendry hammered, down, down, down. "Arya!"

A short arm flung out and struck Hot Pie across the face. His round face all flew to one side, some spit flying out of the corner of his mouth. Once everything was back in place before he screwed his face up and clutched his nose. "Ow. Ooooooow!"

Gendry was smiling hard at his sword and hammer. Arya rolled over and pillowed her head on her hands. Hot Pie lowered his hands and scowled again, this time in anger. He reached down and shook her by the shoulder. "Arya! Wake up, you have to work."

"Don't call her Arya too loud you tit. Call her Nan. Or erm...Nymeria? Yeah, Nym."

Hot Pie looked at him like he was crazy then shook his head and went back to shaking Arya who was looking more and more irritated by the moment. He actually lifted her up a little and dropped her back on the bed. It creaked and swayed to one side.

"Oi!" shouted Gendry. "I'd like to still have a bed at the end of this."

Arya groaned and lifted one leg above the blanket revealing a grubby ankle and half a dirty leg.

"No," she murmured, "I'm warm. Five more minutes." Then she raised her exposed leg and kicked Hot Pie in the stomach. He landed heavily on his arse as Gendry laughed hard, dropping his arm to watch Hot Pie roll around. Arya rolled over and opened her eyes. They slid to Gendry, his eyes met hers and he smiled. She was sleepy enough to half smile back, then looked back at Hot Pie contemptuous as it was possible to be when one was semi-conscious.

"What do you want Pie?"

"It's dinner time. Cooks want you for the dinners."

"Oh," she said, and it became a groan as she stretched out under the blanket, adding a hands width of tummy the amount of flesh on show. She really did look like a little child.

"Arya," Gendry said sharply and she cracked one eye open and looked at him. He had pinned back the curtain flap and sunlight was streaming in lighting his front. He had his long sleeved leather lashed around his middle over a coarse vest he must have lifted from somewhere. The light shafted over him shining on his sweat soaked arms. Gleaming on his face as he grinned across at her.

"Look at that." She said. "Sun."

* * *

Lazy afternoons were well and good but they didn't last -the weather or the lazy- and yet the latter kept coming back to her while she walked the upper reaches of the castle. Post dinner or mid-day meal she would take Tywin's plates and tuck them somewhere, then just walk about the castle. She'd carry a small plate or goblet around sometimes, just to look like she was doing something, but it was rare to run into someone. At Winterfell it had been difficult to get Nan to _stop_ telling stories but when Harrenhal was mentioned it was harder to get her to go back to that than anything else. In the end she had given up and run to Jory, he had told her about Harrenhal and how its gatehouse was bigger than the great hall in Winterfell and its own great hall had a _thousand _fireplaces and five spires melted with dragon fire. How Harren the Black had been roasted alive with his sons in the Kingspyre, like sparrows by a sparrowhawk. Aegon the first and Balerion, his black dragon, had then melted the stones of Harrenhal and no one had ever held the keep since, all of them soon to lose it in war or die horrible grisly deaths. At that point Jory had always roared and chased her around the yard, laughing madly. Winterfell had seemed huge, and when she was that old she was sure this mighty keep would have seemed like the whole world.

She followed the bridge between the Kingspyre and the Widow's Tower not really becoming nervous until she was half way across and the wind tearing through the windows began tugging at her hair. Slate tiles rattled above her occasionally small holes appearing. If not for the screaming wind she might have been fine but the occasional sharp blast and the whole thing shook. Maybe it was too much to hope that Balerion's fire had smelted the rock in place. She picked up her pace three quarters of the way across and sprinted the last hundred yards. It felt like a league. She reached the Widow's tower panting and clutched a wall. A brief giggle escaped her but she clamped her mouth down on it, straightening up and becoming a picture of collectedness. Her mother would have been proud. Then she trotted down the wide spiral staircase, except it was barely a spiral yet. The girth of the tower was twice the size of the throne room in Kings Landing. The upper reaches of the two twinned towers were actually wreathed in misty clouds, the last three tumble down and built lower on the ground escaped but were no less impressive.

The Widow, right now, housed a group of sell-swords. She had seen one, dressed ostentatiously in a violet tabard with a black goat on the front, but they were from the free cities. They were foreign and frightening –for others not for her – and if Arya were still the hardy daughter of the North she might have asked for the stories but she'd heard the whispers even amongst the Lannister soldiers. _Baby-killers, _they hissed between them, when one or the other of the men passed by. It was a rare occasion that they were seen but when they did the talk followed. There was a huge Dothraki among them and a man with a wide stained smile, his teeth large, square and blue tinged. He had winked at Arya and offered a tiny blue flower, when she backed off he shrugged and popped it in his mouth, then licked his lips.

As she ran down the stairs she heard the sound of a door opening then talk. Seeing nowhere to run she darted into a doorway and concealed herself on the shadowy side. Boots on the stairs, the sound grew louder and louder as they came closer, all heavy male steps. The conversation rose too, one voice deep and well nourished, a soft note, one voice deep also but scratchy like metal scraped down stone. And one was soft, quite high for a man and slightly musical but like a song wavered out of tune every so often, sounding discordant and a bit...well, mad. Three passed her, violet on them in one form or another. The high voiced one she recognised as the blue toothed flower man. He wore a violet hat that looked like it had been sewn out of offcuts, with little sea shells sewn to the points. One was tall, and dramatically scarred, blade marks slicing diagonally across his neck and part of his face, he croaked some barely intelligible words to the third. The soft spoken, soothing one.

"I'll speak with Vargo soon," said the last. The croaker made more noises in his throat and the other laughed. "Missing your days in the sept Utt? I hear they have a very fine one here,"

Utt let out a sound that sounded more like a growl than anything else.

"I don't think he finds the food paletable," breathed the blue mouthed man, tongue flicking out to taste the air. "Can't say I do myself."

"But what do you mean by food my friend?"

Blue-mouth smiled, "What do you imply, Qyburn? I resist your tone, ser. And by your leave, I meant food for the body. Food for the soul, it has plenty. Not enough kiddies for Utt to drink from, but plenty for Shagwell. I'll pick those flowers, all the pretty flowers." His voice drifted high and became wistful. "Shagwell picks, Shagwell keeps, Shagwell EATS!" And he whirled around on the spot knashing his mighty teeth at Arya, grey spit flying at her. She screamed and jerked away from his hand which had come searching for her arm and threw herself down the stairs. For what was one of the tensest moments of her life she heard 'Shagwell' start to follow, cackling at the top of his lungs before the voice of Qyburn called him back. Arya clattered on, not willing to stop for a moment. She had to run for a full five minutes before reaching the ground floor where she dashed out of the nearest outside door and straight into that chubby blonde with the red cheeks who had brought Gendry his dinner the other night. The basket in her arms tumbled to the floor and wet cloth spread all over the muddy stone.

"I'm sorry!" cried Arya lunging after the sheets. The girl was scrabbling after her cargo as well. Together they collected it and heaped it back into the basket, kneeling across from each other on the stone. They looked up at the same time only for the girl to give Arya a gap toothed smile before going back to the laundry.

"Aren't you Veleth?" Arya asked, "Sorry about your sheets."

"Oh no don't worry, they were being washed anyway. Oh and yes I am Veleth. You were with the blacksmith weren't you?"

Arya flushed darkly and nodded. Veleth dropped her head too and whispered, "Ser Gendry," then she added a little too casually, "Is he your brother?"

Arya shook her head this time. For no, she certainly wasn't Gendry's sister. Veleth for her part didn't seem to notice but re-folded the top sheets and stood, tightening her woolly shawl one handed around her shoulders. "I have to get the laundry, I'll see you about, I hope," and she made to turn into the Tower of the Widow. Arya had a sudden flash, as to what 'pretty flowers' were and seized Veleth by the back of the shawl then grabbed her elbow.

"Don't go up there," she said urgently.

"What?" she asked, eyes quivering and wide, "but I have to get the laundry, I'll get in trouble."

"Trust me, no. Get someone else to do it or take someone with you. Lots of people, with...daggers. But don't go up there by yourself."

"But-"

"No!" Arya snapped, then dragged Veleth away from the arch-way by the elbow. "Look, I'll walk you up to the Kingspyre, I left something up there anyway, but promise me you won't go back into there even if they whip you." The intensity of Arya's gaze, and the pain of her grip must have meant something to Veleth because she stared back and nodded once, lip trembling and eyes glossy. Arya sighed, feeling the weight of this girl's safety leave her and dropped her arm. Turning she trotted down the steps towards the front entrance to the Kingspyre. More people, less worry about witnesses. "Come on then!" she called and watched Veleth turn and run towards her, basket under her arm.

They walked over the uneven rock beside the curtain wall passing through side buildings and ducking amongst people who were carrying things to and fro. Arya stayed a few steps in front of the girl most of the way, that is until someone grabbed Veleth by the scruff and hauled her back. A portly man with a moustache and a large ring of keys on his belt shook her roughly.

"Girl!" he growled, "What are you doing you were meant to be collecting from the Brave Companions!"

"I was Ser, I swear, but Lord Lannister's cup bearer caught me. His lordship wants some things collected Ser. I couldn't say no. I'll get it afterwards Ser."

He snuffled through his moustache, masticating on the thought and puffing like a sea mammal. "No!" he suddenly shouted, "Are you a fool, don't keep his lordship waiting!" He almost threw her through the door where Arya waited. The two of them ran down the hall, Veleth letting little bursts of laughter escape every so often.

"Wow," said Arya as they slowed to a steadier pace, "that was a _good_ lie."

"That's just Weese. He's horrible but its best to keep him happy because he's an under-steward. Especially with that nasty dog he keeps around. Trained it to bite, you see, by hitting it."

"That's awful!" cried Arya, "What a nasty little man. If I still had-" but she stopped because she didn't have Needle. Together they dashed through the halls, Arya eventually always trotting ahead while Veleth ran behind giggling and catching up between the door ways she peeked into. At last they reached the Kingspyre and ran all the way up the stairs to where Arya had left Tywin Lannister's plate and cups. She gathered them while Veleth kept an unsolicited watch, peeking around the inset window's corner stones to look up and down the corridor. It was empty so they dashed off again down the tower's western staircase rather than the one they had come up. Arya reached the bottom first as usual, a little out of breath, but Veleth was panting when she reached the floor. She stumbled over her hem when she took a few steps on wobbly legs.

"That's why skirts are rubbish," said Arya with a smile. Veleth on the other hand, flushed from her normal rosy complexion until the red crossed her nose, neck, forehead and ears. Arya had never seen a blush so spectacular. Veleth's mouth had got very small, a disinclination to speak if ever there was one, so Arya filled in, "Are the kitchens close?" Veleth dropped her eyes and nodded, "Well come on then."

Smiling like a fool Arya strode off again. Veleth quickly caught up and walked by her side where they traded glances every so often. They reached the laundry room soon after and Veleth dumped the basket and its contents in to a large steamy vat. The room itself was vast with both women and men leaning over the mighty cauldrons stirring the contents with long poles or dropping great chunks of a fatty looking substance into the water. It was swealtering, warm enough to make Arya pull off her thick leather jerkin. She struggled out of it, left in a dirty vest.

"Should we help..." she asked, holding her clothing in front of her tentatively and taking a step or two towards the nearest vat. On the other side of it, three red faced women were rubbing material up and down the wash boards. The sound of their knuckles rapping along the ridges came in a strange rhythm while they chattered and laughed with each other. She reached towards the water only to have Veleth grab her wrist.

"No!" she said, "Don't touch, the lye will burn your hand right off. They'll be bright red and all itchy before you've time to blink." Arya looked at her and the girl released her, "That's what my aunt says."

"Your aunt?"

"She works here. Kitchen mostly, she's a cook. And my grandfather is the master smith your Gendry works under."

Veleth turned and walked between the vats. Arya followed, her jerkin trailing along the floor. "He's not _my_ Gendry," she muttered, but Veleth didn't seem to hear. Her bright head bobbed away amongst a plethora of red-tinged, matronly arms and sweaty faces. Arya, who took the brief time to look around her, had to run to catch up. They wound their way through the room, once or twice servants would call to Veleth and she would smile but otherwise look apologetic and gesture that she had to go. _She is the small-folks Sansa_, thought Arya. Then, _no, not Sansa, there is no Sansa. _But it was possible to see where Veleth and a possible politically minded high-born lady could have walked along side her. Veleth was an eye-catcher. Still a baby, with her round face and baby-fat, but she promised a kind of beauty that lit up this dingy place.

Arya kicked herself. What good was beauty here? Beauty only gets you killed. But Veleth, more to the point was nice. She was helpful and obedient. She kept you happy without being subservient. Arya could see herself liking this girl, despite her clearly not knowing what to do with herself when it came to a sword or to Gendry. Arya snorted, anyone being struck by Gendry was just about the daftest thing she could think of in a place like this.

Veleth waited for her at the base of the stairwell, one shoulder and hand pressed against the stone gave her an urgent look, as if she was going somewhere. Arya caught up and Veleth pushed herself away from the wall. They both just stood there for a moment, Veleth rocking on her feet towards Arya and looking at the floor. The tension shifted, Arya was confused, it seemed inexplicably awkward.

"Come on," she was nothing if not a master of just powering through, "We need to drop of his lordship's silver." The last word was said with scorn as she grabbed Veleth's arm and pulled her around the doorway. Soft flesh gave way under her rangy fingers, "how are you so well fed?" she asked, prodding Veleth's arm again. Veleth pinked a little and shrugged, lightly.

"My aunt is large, my mother is too. Grand-father is rather gristly beside us, but having Aunt Beril in the kitchen is helpful. Sometimes we just get the fatty off-cuts but its meat. Maybe...maybe I could get you some," she plucked at a hole in her apron. "_Andyourfriendstoo._"

Arya supposed Gendry may like that. But she wouldn't tell Hot Pie, he certainly didn't need fatty off-cuts. He _was _a fatty off-cut. Grinning to herself at this she jammed her hands in her pockets and strolled with an almost Greyjoy spring in her step through the next corridor, Veleth trotting afterwards.

They walked. Arya caught Veleth's eye and winked as she pulled out the the decorated goblet that they had retrieved from the too-high balistraria. The goblet had tipped out of the arrow slit and into Arya's hands with only a minor fumble. But Veleth gasped with delight as if Arya was juggling fire. _Behold Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword. _She tossed the cup into the air and caught it by its stem. Veleth's eyes grew saucer wide and she rushed forward to take them. Arya stood still for a few moments. She had forgotten what it was like to have servants. Arry took care of himself, and the ghost of Harrenhal had never had a servant in her life. She had forgotten what it was to be Arya, but Veleth was talking and Arya made herself pay attention. Arya didn't ignore her friends – well unless they were acting like a wet behind the ears son of a pie-maker.

She was prattling a little, about the honour of being a cup-bearer. Arya couldn't say she agreed. She couldn't agree with anything that painted these highborn like they were carved of Dornish marble and shit gold dust. _These _highborn, like she wasn't one of them. But without being acknowledged, what was she? Except a Stark. Always that.

"And he brought a retinue of soldiers and commanders and servants. You were the only one he got into his employ after he arrived."

Really? Well that was interesting. Arya couldn't help but wonder then, if there had been an ulterior motive behind Tywin Lannister's appointment of her, other than his approval of her brazenness. But no, he was no raper and she was certain he didn't know who she was but then, why would he tell her if he did. Still, it seemed ridiculous to think of it. He did not scare her, not in that way. She was always just left with an uneasy feeling of awe. This was where Jaime and Cersei and the imp came from. This was the source. He was not smug or vicious but just ruthlessly clever. The kind of clever Arya wished she could be.

"Maybe we ought to get you something. You did tell Weese that you were fetching laundry." Arya said taking a few steps down, ahead of Veleth.

"Oh no," Veleth replied, "Lord Tywin has his own men to do that. It would look like we were stealing. If Weese asks I'll say you were playing a trick on me. Leading me about the castle for a jape. He won't think twice on-"

"But then I'll be in trouble!"

"Yes, but I thought you could stay out of sight easier. There's always someone looking for me. Besides Weese is so big he'd never catch you."

"He's got his dog though." Seven hells, Arya missed Nymeria sometimes.

"I bet you're faster though. I've seen you run the yard and dodge the guardsman, you're quick enough."

"Yeah, but I'd rather not spend my time dodging an over-weight popinjay and his blood thirsty familiar." Veleth looked down, contrite. "I don't know why he'd care, anyway."

"Oh he looks down on servants running around together," she said, then flushed again. They came out at the bottom of the stairs, making their way back through the laundry room, steam beading on their faces. Arya swept it off while Veleth couldn't touch hers, her hands burdened with the plate and cup. Arya dragged one sleeve over her wrist and smudged the sweat away from her companion's face. Veleth beamed her face still rosy but that was probably due to heat. Arya liked having this someone to talk to. It wasn't like an older sister who looked down on everything you did. More like a younger one. One that looked up to everything you did. Bran never looked up to Arya, they were of too equal a disposition for Bran to be in awe of her, and besides his awe was saved for John and Robb. Rickon was too young to be in awe of anything much at all. Veleth was like having a charge, but she was a good liar and not slow or pathetic. Despite a lamentable embarrassment about being around Gendry, Arya liked her.

"Um, Nym..." began Veleth nervously, looking down at the fine silver in her hands, "are we friends?"

Arya grinned, "Of course we are, stupid. If we weren't, you'd be the one running from Weese."

* * *

Arya pushed the door flap aside and walked in to the forge. Gendry was sat at the table whittling something. It was a lump with two stubbier lumps on top of it. She wrinkled her nose disdainfully. "What is _that_?" she asked. Gendry looked up at her and raised an eyebrow.

"It's a bull, _m'lady_. It isn't finished yet."

"Well obviously, looks like a turd right now."

He scoffed, "when in your life have you seen a turd look like that? High-borns must shit very strangely."

She flattened him with her gaze. Or at least tried to, he was already back on his carving.

She looked again at the lump of wood. I _could _be a bull, if one looked at it a certain way. And squinted. But like he said, it wasn't finished. Arya should learn to be more charitable. She wandered across the room, picking up a little dagger that lay on the work bench and using it to pick her nails. Even though she didn't care one whit if they were clean or not, her mother would have clipped her at the sight of them now. She studied one stubby half-moon as Gendry whittled away. Scraping the dirt from beneath revealed a surprisingly sharp looking white. She eagerly scraped back the rest and pushed all her cuticles down for good measure. Smiling, she flexed her claws. Then there was a sharp intake of breath from the table though and she looked up to see Gendry dropping the knife and looking closely at his thumb. The bull lump was caged loosely in his hand as her squeezed his thumb pad. Blood welled there.

"Spit on it," she commanded casually. He narrowed his eyes, a little curious, a little suspicious. "Oh you superstitious-" she rolled her eyes and hopped off the table, making for him but he jammed his thumb in his mouth.

"Why um uy thitting on i'?" he asked through the digit.

"Maester Luwin said your spit has healing agents. You're body fights off fevers and infection because of your blood and spit and things like that." Gendry looked a bit sceptical. She continued, undeterred. "He had this book but it was really rare. And quite old. Where this maester had the idea that where the followers of the seven thought there were spirits, there are tiny parts of you that attack illness when it's in you. Sansa liked it when she was younger, and Bran was interested too. He showed it to me when I would cut myself or fall over. The way that blood dries on the skin and the skin underneath heals itself."

She had so loved that book. It was useful and she liked useful things, plus the idea of little beasts inside her fighting off any illness had been most thrilling. The blood of the wolves. She used to lie under Maester Luwin's table –at times when she had hurt herself too badly to go out, or wasn't trusted to stay in alone, and she would read it by candle light. She had never been a fantastic reader but that book had been one of her encouragements. She could almost feel the flag stones under her ribs and smell the dewy smell of the pages. Gendry scoffed, and said it sounded like the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "Fine," she spat, giving him the haughtiest evil eye she could muster. "I hope your thumb goes yellow as a lemon and then drops off."

They sat in silence for a few minutes more before Arya walked over to the table and picked up the bull which Gendry had set down. I looked like a blob with horns. "Why a bull?" she asked. Gendry shrugged.

"Dunno," he said, sounding for all the world as if he didn't, "all the houses have their animals. Thought I'd have my own. The only thing I ever got compared to was a bull because I was stubborn. Stubborn about the way I made my work. I got called bull-headed, so I made a helm to match." Arya thought about asking for a wolf helm, the idea of matching him and the image of him charging into battle was briefly pleasing, but then she thought about how she would look in it and it struck her as suddenly silly. Plus, she felt that a wolf helm put her in mind of the Hound. And she wouldn't look like the Hound for anything. He was evil. And a water dancer didn't need a helm anyway. If you saw a sword coming you got out of the way. That was obvious to anyone.

"I'm sorry you lost it, your helm," she twisted the bull between her fingers. "If you get any better at this will you make me a wolf?" she finally asked.

"If I can do it without sticking myself, yeah. And thanks."

She pushed the wood hunk away from herself, in his direction or what it was approximately. She wasn't actually looking. She rose instead, and crossed the room to his pallet, toeing off her shoes and climbing in, curling up under the thin blankets into the smallest ball she could make. A set of small toes poked out from beneath the covers while the blanket was tucked around her head, flattening her hair.

"Don't get comfortable," Gendry called, a warning tone but it sounded amused.

"Won't do," she called back. But there was already a yawn in the voice.

* * *

Under the rocks Gendry looked over at a now sleeping Arya and knew it must have been after that she stopped visiting, you simply didn't fall asleep in the presence of those you didn't trust. Especially if you were on the run, and especially if you were Arya. He rolled over and laid his head on the slope, scraping his ear on an onion skin layer of stone. He stared out into the misty rain and dark, illuminated only a tiny bit by the stars now. Feeling around he pulled his pack up to his chest and undid the strings. Digging around for a moment he found it. A chunk of wood with what looked like a shaggy tail and a muzzle protruding from it, it was striped with blood, almost forgotten.

* * *

**Lost all my page breaks. Damn it.**

**When I first abandoned this to the dusty depths of my hard-drive I have a strong feeling it was only half finished. It was about 4500 words long at the time. I was exhausted from writing it and a little depressed at the prospect of having to carry on. But in the time away I've actually changed a few plot points and ideas that this fic revolves around, so its probably best I didn't just power through. This one sits pretty at about six and a half thousand. It feels a little fillerish but you need the veg to make the stew taste good. **

**I'm making my best attempt to stay canonical to the telly rather than the books, despite now having slightly conflicting knowledge. ****I am still not happy though. I hate what I did to the creepy brotherhood who are extractees -lit refugees nearly- from the pages of a Storm of Swords (is that the second one?). They were tacky and it bugs me. Also, is Veleth being dull. I feel like she's boring right now. I got ninety nine problems and this bitch is one. Its also come to light that she probably would have been raped in Harrenhal being female and young but for now my theory is that her family protects her. She will have more of a role than just being the slightly annoying companion, though. I promise. Not just a foil as someone aptly said, and not just a girl.**

**A reviewer commented last chapter that it was a little cliche and tbh, she's probably right but I soldier on. This is the place for improvement. That's what your eyes are for.**

**This also may be set to end fairly quickly because I don't want to drag it out. Plus you never know what's happening with this show. Canon is my shackle. Well, I kind of know already where this is going and that's another pain. Also I left it so long that I felt it necessary to tell in flash-back just so we didn't feel too behind the times.**

**There were fluffy moments that I just wanted to put in that were probably unnecessary but I'm resigned to nothing but some brother/sisterly affection, a little mistrust and some Arya sided crushing. Because you know you can pinpoint the exact moment she started going through puberty last series. Umf, hello abs.**


End file.
